The Winter Festival
by Viridis Lupus
Summary: Loosely based on a Christmas Carol. Arthur is visited by Three Ghosts who reveal to him what happened in Merlin's past, present and future to make him the man that he is and the man he will be. These visits are meant to change Arthur, himself, for good.
1. In the Beginning

**Author's Note:**

**Right, guys, this story is loosely, I hasten to put emphasis on the loosely for all you Dickens fans out there, based on Charles Dickens' tale, A Christmas Carol. Now, I know its a bit out of season but I was struck with the writing bug and really needed to get this up. I think there will be five chapters (I've planned this. Wow!) just to give you an estimate.**

**By the way, just so you are forewarned, I sort of combined the Ghost of Marley and the Ghost of Christmas Past but I said it was loosely based on the book so forgive me. Please?**

* * *

**The Winter Festival**

Snow blanketed the earth, the grass was silver and iridescent with a layer of frost and the air was cold and crisp. Somehow, winter made the world all the more beautiful. It covered up all the blemishes and problems. A blank canvas; ready to be imprinted upon. Icicles hung from a wizen, gnarled tree branch, shimmering in the harsh, early morning sun. They looked impossible, suspended in space: glistening, transparent and fragile. Berries looked like rubies when encased in the translucent ice and their surrounding leaves like the delicate sweetmeats that a shop in the village sold, sprinkled with sugar to stop them going bad.

Two little speckled sparrows bathed in the cool water which had collected in a shallow indent on a rock. In order to reach it, they had to peck through the thin layer of ice on the surface (with the weak rays of sun aiding their plight). Now, they hopped in and out, of the clear liquid, squeaking as they fluffed up their feathers against the chill.

The lake in the middle of the forest was a shiny mirror, the water having frozen in the early days of winter and not thawed since.

Many wild creatures had taken to their burrows, to their holes, to their nests, in order to escape the coldness which had enveloped the land. Even some well-prepared animals were feeling the chill, despite their thick coats. A winter hare could be seen bounding swiftly through a thicket, hurrying to get back to his warren, snowy white pelt blending in with his surroundings to make him less vulnerable to the increasingly desperate predators that roamed the desolate countryside. The lynx, that had been watching him with hungry eyes, slunk away, realising that he would not get lucky this time.

All the crop fields were barren and bare, not a single shoot could grow through the severe weather and survive. It was just the livestock that stood in the fields, shivering in the frostiness of dawn. Sheep huddled together, a huge woolly mass of bodies, whilst the cows tried to suck some moisture from the grass beneath their feet – the water in their trough had frozen solid. A lone horse hung its head as it stood in the middle of its paddock.

No cockerel crowed this morning to signal the break of day. It had long since been killed and used in a hearty broth.

Although everything seemed rather desolate and food was rather scarce, that didn't matter, not to the people. The Winter Festival was fast approaching Camelot; it was an annual event held on the twentieth day of winter – unsurprisingly – when all the citizens in the area would celebrate the might and power of the deity Caillech. They would attempt to appease her so that she would look kindly upon them and grant them a good season – not taking too many of their livestock from the cold or too many of their children from fever or starvation.

The main festivities would occur in Camelot itself where there would be dancing on the streets and feasting on the supplies they had saved up especially from the autumn harvests. No expense was spared – certainly not in the castle kitchens, anyway. There you could find rich cuts of venison; haunches of pork and beef and lamb; a large, plump pheasant was the centrepiece, un-plucked with all its beautiful coloured plumage still showing. Exotic spices, salty sauces and a variety of herbs were used to season the meats. Although, for the most part, vegetables were sparse, you could find the odd carrot or bean or cabbage, saved up and boiled for the occasion.

Around the castle, the walls would be adorned with extravagant decorations that were brought out every year to signify the festival: ribbons and tassels and bells and chimes and quaint little statues of Caillech herself. Lovely fragrances would be spread around the passages, to go with the season; sometimes a waft of cinnamon would reach your nostrils or else a whiff of rosemary.

And for some reason, some idiot had thought it _intelligent_ to bring a pine tree into the Great Hall, which it wasn't. However, somebody had yet to move it, so there it stood, tall and proud and green, a little…or rather big, part of nature inside the castle.

Although the Winter Festival was supposed to be a joyous time, there was someone who didn't enjoy it, not one tiny bit. His name was Arthur and he was sitting in his room, at this very moment, sulking.

He hated this season most out of all of them, in winter he could not do what he wanted to do, he was restricted as to whether he could go out training because of treacherous conditions and icy temperatures, he couldn't hunt because there was _nothing _to hunt and he hated the Winter Festival because it was so gaudy and loud and they had to entertain hundreds of guests; many of whom he loathed. Every year he would have to make pleasantries with Lords from Belinhath, Tintagel or Knor and would have to entertain the minor-kings from the Celtic regions with stories and anecdotes. Those men were imbeciles; that's all he had to say on the matter. He couldn't understand how someone could become king if they didn't know gold from silver.

Unfortunately, he knew this year would be no different. Perhaps, he could say that he was ill, force Gaius to make up some malady that he had come down with so he could remain in his room all day and miss the dreaded event.

On top of all the stupid pomp and ceremony already associated with the festival, it was traditional to give gifts to those you cared about, in Arthur's case that was his father and Morgana; he'd given Morgana enough bloody jewellery to last a life time. Why would she need anymore? His father was usually satisfied with a nice bottle of wine or a new doublet. Not that he needed any more of those either. What did you give to someone who had all they needed already?

This year, he had toyed with not getting them anything at all, or maybe, he could give Morgana a cockroach in a box as a joke. That was sure to get her eternally sour mouth laughing. Maybe Father would appreciate a spell book; not that Arthur would know where to get one of those.

He just wished they didn't have to make all this fuss.

Another thing he wished for was that his damn servant would be on time for once. Arthur couldn't understand how Merlin could be so lacking in brains and time-keeping skills. Often, he wondered why on earth he put up with the boy as his manservant; he was just so useless. The young prince didn't think there had been a single day in all the time he had known the peasant boy that he hadn't done _something _wrong. Merlin was a walking accident waiting to happen. A magnet for mayhem.

Arthur decided that if he didn't turn up in the next five minutes then he was going to fire him. He didn't care whether it was the Winter Festival tomorrow or not. Merlin needed to be taught a lesson.

* * *

It was about three minutes later, when a tangle of limbs burst into the room; a shock of coal hair on his head and a pile of washing in his arms, Arthur knew immediately that his manservant had arrived.

"_Mer_lin," he growled, his eyes narrowing at the sight of the clumsy young man who was dropping socks all over the place. "Where the _hell _have you been?"

"Um…well….you see, I had to do this errand for Gaius and then Rein, the head servant said…."

"You know _what_? I don't care," Arthur snapped; his jaw was tense and angry. "This is the fifth time you've been late in the last five days. It's just not good enough, Merlin."

Merlin frowned, looking puzzled. "It's the run up to the Winter Festival, Arthur, I've been really busy."

"_Don't_ call me Arthur, Merlin, you are just a servant, not my friend, address me as sire or my lord, nothing else."

"Sorry," the manservant looked hurt, "_Sire_."

"Better. Anyway, this ridiculous farce of a festival is no excuse to shirk your duties; the duties I pay you for. If you are late just _one _more time then you will lose you're job."

"Are you serious?" Merlin seemed surprised. Arthur didn't care.

"Yes, Merlin," he replied, sharply. "Now, go and get this dent in my armour knocked out."

The prince tossed a heavy piece of metal at his manservant and watched, with a certain satisfaction, as he buckled under the weight, thrown off balance by the sudden presence in his arms. Arthur was actually surprised that he hadn't dropped the chest plate or at least fumbled it. Somehow, he managed to retain his footing and negotiate putting the fresh laundry on a chair beside Arthur's bed, whilst still holding the armour. Once he was done, he offered his master a strangely wounded look and then left.

Arthur groaned to himself once more and then proceeded to batter the pillow on his bed with his fist, venting his frustration. The things he had to do as the king's son, it was such hard work. He often wished he had as few worries and difficulties as Merlin and the other servants seemed to face. They had it easy in his opinion; he'd never seen his manservant worrying about politics or the welfare of the people or making alliances with pricks from other far off kingdoms. On top of that, Arthur had to worry about pleasing his father. He would bet his entire sword collection that Merlin had never had to worry about pleasing his parents. He had that laid back, content, forever buoyant attitude which Arthur associated with happy childhoods.

There was a sudden knock at the door. Arthur cursed and marched over to the door. His mood blackened further when he opened it and came face to face with a young handmaid dressed in festive colours, with holly and mistletoe braided into her honey coloured hair. Her eyes were big and blue, sparkling with jolliness. Arthur found himself hating her.

"My lord." She bowed her head and curtsied very deeply. The prince sighed, exasperated. "I have come on behalf of the king to request your presence in the Dining Room for breakfast."

"Tell him I'll be there in a minute," Arthur barked, before shutting the door in the girl's face. For a moment he felt a bit ashamed and then he reminded himself that he was royalty and she was not and therefore she could hardly complain.

* * *

The day had been hellish and it was only the eve of the Winter Festival, Arthur couldn't imagine what the actual day would be like. Guests and dignitaries had been arriving all day and filling up the rooms in the castle. It had been part of his duty, as Prince of Camelot, to greet every _single _one as they came through the door, make small talk for about ten minutes and then accept a gift. Arthur believed the whole shenanigan to be a complete waste of time and wished he could get those minutes of his life back. Unfortunately, one couldn't rewind time.

To make things worse, he'd gorged himself on all the rich foods which the kitchens provided in order to distract himself from his misery and quench his boredom. Now he felt completely and utterly sick to his stomach. Which obviously didn't help his already sour mood.

Merlin had been a fool all day too. He couldn't get a single, simple task right. It was like making a slow child do his errands. Arthur was still sure that the boy had a grievous mental impairment.

He remembered one incident when he'd been walking down a deserted corridor, in a completely foul frame of mind when he caught sight of his idiot manservant standing idly in the middle of the passage with his back to him. To begin with, he'd shouted angrily at the youth and then, when he didn't answer, he'd hit him, hard, between the shoulder blades. Merlin had then jerked forward, yelping in surprise, his voice thick with sleep. Arthur couldn't believe that he had managed to fall asleep, on duty, whilst standing up. He was supposed to be mopping the floor for goodness sake - and that wasn't even one of the tasks that Arthur had set him! Really, he should be mucking out the stables or polishing his master's boots.

Although, the prince assumed that his servant was awake, he realised that he had somehow fallen back to sleep in the time that it had taken Arthur to admonish and berate him. Slowly, he tipped to one side and the young royal stared in absolute astonishment and disbelief as he gradually unbalanced himself and then fell, heavily, on the flagged stone floor. There was a sharp crack as his cheekbone hit the ground. Arthur winced; perhaps he should have stopped him.

Unsurprisingly, Merlin woke up again with a start and sat up; his whole side was drenched in water from his previously unfinished mopping. There was a dark bruise already forming on his face. He truly was a ridiculous mess.

"What the _hell_? Are you an ignorant buffoon?" Arthur exclaimed, his eyes bright with disgust.

Merlin looked embarrassed. "No – I was just….tired….I have to go." The prince was surprised when his servant glanced at him nervously and then hurried away down the corridor, kicking the bucket of soapy water over the floor as he went with a wayward foot.

"_Idiot_." Arthur breathed after him.

Fortunately, the night was falling on Camelot and Arthur would be able to get some sleep before having to survive another day of torture. Maybe, by some miracle, he wouldn't wake up until tomorrow evening, when all the celebrations would be over and he would have missed it all. What a dream that was. Somehow, though, he imagined that his father would wake him up whether it was by shouting at him and forcing him bodily. Uther believed it to be of the utmost importance to keep the tradition of the Winter Festival going because otherwise the people would have little to look forward to each year and if they stopped offering gifts to Caillech, then she might unleash her wrath on them.

Staring out of his window, the young man watched as the lights in the city sprawled out before him were gradually blown out one by one. Soon, the dwellings were blanketed in a sea of darkness. Still, Arthur continued to gaze upon the land and wondered what it would be like not to one day have to rule over it all. What if he'd been born into a different life? Would he have preferred that?

Probably not, was the answer. Arthur knew that he liked his luxuries and his status and his pride too much. If he wasn't a Pendragon then he wouldn't be anyone; a nobody, like Merlin. Perhaps, he would have even have turned out like the boy: clumsy and hopeless. That didn't bear thinking about.

Reluctantly, he tore his eyes away from his portal into the peasant world, and made his way over to his bed. He pulled off his shirt and then climbed beneath the covers. Somehow, he knew that tonight would be a long night. And tomorrow – even longer.

* * *

Arthur woke to a strange noise. It sounded, in his opinion, like the clanking of chains. A strange, macabre noise that he associated usually with the prisoners who whined and cried in the dungeons; they would knock the links of the chains together in order to irritate the prison guards. Usually, it worked and they would receive a severe beating for their impudence. Luckily, he, personally, had never been subject to having the nasty things restraining him, despite the many times he'd disobeyed his father. It paid to be the King's son, he supposed.

The clanking was getting louder and Arthur was getting more annoyed. With a huff of frustration, he threw off his covers and climbed out of bed. Then he froze…

Standing, in the middle of his room, was a figure. Initially, he thought it a child and he wondered, immediately, how it had got into his chambers. However, upon closer inspection, he realised that, in fact, although it was the height and size of a child, it had the features of an adult. Intense, black eyes bore into his.

Its indeterminate age was not the main issue, though, what Arthur had issue with was the fact that the man-child glowed; as brightly as the moon on a cloudless night. It seemed to seep light from every pore; even its clothes shone. Around its thin wrists and ankles, thick, heavy manacles were bound, loose chains trailing along behind it. Had it broken out from somewhere? Was it in trouble? So many thoughts whistled through Arthur's head that he soon became disorientated and confused.

There was a dark stain on its shimmering white tunic. Blood.

"_Who _are you?" Arthur said, weakly at first and then, suddenly remembering who he was. "I demand to know who you are and what your purpose is here!"

"My purpose is to meet you."

"And do you know who I am?" Arthur replied, sharply.

"Prince Arthur, of course," the apparition smiled; it was a very eerie smile, "I am the Ghost of Winter Past."

Arthur frowned, his brow knotting deeply. A ghost? Surely not. His father had taught him of these strange beings: apparitions. They were the dead and yet they had not passed on to the next life. Instead, they just hung around, washed out and wandering, eternally between alive and dead. Gaius said they were forever imprinted on the fabric of this world and they could never escape. One thing Arthur knew for certain, he never wanted to meet one and he certainly never wanted to be one. However, here it was.

"A ghost?" Arthur stated, then. "Who's past?"

"Your past," the spirit answered, its ageless face giving nothing away.

All the prince could think was that he wasn't liking the sound of this and what could he do to get rid of the _thing _before someone walked in to see what the commotion was about. It wouldn't do to have a translucent person in his room if Father came to visit; not that he would at this time of night, more likely one of the guards.

"_My _past?"

"First, we must address why I am here," the phantom stated, solemnly. "And that is for the reason that you are a selfish, depreciating, bullying man who is destined to one day become King of all of Albion. However, your cruel ways must stop, you must open your eyes and view the world as it truly is if you are ever to become the great king you are fated to be. You must change, young Pendragon, if you are to take up the throne which you have been prophesised to sit upon."

Arthur scowled. He wasn't sure he liked the way this 'spectre' was talking to him or the way he described him. For one thing, the prince knew that he wasn't cruel, perhaps a little bullying but never cruel and that, no matter what this spirit said, he would rule Camelot some time in the future. It wasn't like some ghost could stop him.

"My eyes are open," Arthur snapped, "And I'm not cruel. I only do what is necessary."

"We shall see," the Ghost of Winter Past replied, mysteriously, before it said. "You shall be haunted by three Ghosts, of which I am the first, on this eve of winter celebrations. Without our visits then you cannot hope to become the true and just king that you are meant to be."

"Right, so what exactly does all this entail?" Arthur raised his eyebrows and crossed his arms, looking at the spirit with an expectant expression.

"It entails a trip into the past, the past of a certain young man whose destiny has been intertwined with yours since birth."

**Right, so I know that Arthur is being a bit of a prick but that's the point. He's meant to change. **

**I really, really hope you liked it. I feel I've set myself up quite well and I hope you agree.**

**Please review!**


	2. The Ghost of Winter Past

**Author's Note - Thank you for all the lovely reviews. I am very glad you are enjoying this story. Just so you know, this will have very little similar to Christmas Carol, just the initial idea of Three Ghosts and changing a person's perspective. That's about it. No Tiny Tim, sorry. **

**I was going to give you this chapter as a gift for there not being Merlin on tomorrow night but I can't wait that long to post it so here it is.**

The sun was just rising in the sky, a new day dawning in the quiet land, faint rays pooled on the grassy meadows and thick, leafy woodland. A group of starlings flitted about, diving and twirling, as they tweeted in the morning chorus. Further away, sitting on a branch, a lark sang sweetly, adding her voice to the harmony whilst a lone deer wandered idly among the forest trees, plucking delicately at dewy shrubs and weeds.

In the villages, the farmers were climbing out of the their beds, sleepily slipping their feet into worn boots and stumbling out of their doors, grabbing a bit of breakfast on the way – their stomachs not really ready to be digesting much yet. A donkey brayed in its stall, wanting to be fed.

These farmers, however, were not the only ones to be awake on this early winter's morning. Lying in on a low wooden bed in a small stone house, a young woman cried out in pain, sweat peppering her brow and her knees up above her head. Her pretty face was red with exhaustion. Around her, two women stood, one at her head, holding her hand and the other at between her legs.

It was in this small, smoky, stress-ridden room that Arthur and his ghost materialised. A strange smell immediately assaulted his nostrils: a pungent mixture of sweat, blood and herbs. The young man looked around, confused and disorientated. His gaze fell upon the scene before him and his mouth fell open in astonishment and horror.

"We shouldn't be here!" he exclaimed. The prince had always been taught that men should never acknowledge or ever be present at things that concerned only women. It was just how things worked. A man at a birth was taboo.

The Ghost of Winter Past looked at him with a pitying expression on his face. "We _have _to be here. This is where it all begins."

"What all begins?" Arthur asked, tensely, slowly backing towards the door, trying to avert his eyes from the gruesome tableau.

"A life must begin with a birth and this is where we are. It is the eighteenth day of the ninth month."

The young woman, who was no more than a girl, let out a heart-wrenching cry of pain. She was breathing heavily and her breast was shuddering up and down with the great sobs which issued from her mouth. Arthur winced away, like a dog that had been hit by his master, cowering.

"But- I can't see _this_," Arthur replied.

"You must," the ghost answered, emphatically. It turned those strange, bottomless eyes on the prince and he wavered. Usually, he did what he wanted and he wouldn't be coerced into anything but it was so hard to refuse those eerie orbs.

At the foot of the low bed, the oldest of the women there, was doing something….down there, as if grappling with some awkward hen that didn't want to come out of the roost. Arthur wanted to be sick; his stomach turned violently, especially when there was a wet noise and a gush of liquid splattered messily onto the straw-strewn floor. The smell of blood intensified.

And then the sound of a baby's cry could be heard. It was so pitiful and full of innocence, that all other thoughts were pushed from Arthur's mind. Instead, he stared, astounded, at the pink wriggling _thing _that the midwife held in her crimson hands. Was that really a baby? It looked so alien and abnormal and…tiny. Little arms and legs kicked into the air; hands balled into fists which flailed clumsily, hitting the woman holding it on the chest.

"Ah, he's a little fighter," she smiled, mopping at the infant gently, getting rid of all the nasty slime which covered his body.

"It's a boy?" the new mother asked, her voice trembling with exhaustion but her eyes alight with hope.

The midwife smiled. "Aye, it is, dear."

"Can I hold him?"

"Just a moment, let me get him a bit cleaner for you." She finished rubbing off the goo and gunk that coated the child and then laid him carefully on the girl's chest. Her brown eyes widened for a second with fear and then they softened as the baby settled into her arms. "Here comes the afterbirth. I'll burn it for you." The woman smiled and picked a sloppy red thing that looked like a cow's liver and threw it in the flames of the hearth.

Arthur jumped as the fire grew for a second, ash flying everywhere, before it died down again. He stared at the girl who clutched the babe to her bosom. She had a familiar face but he couldn't place her.

"Can they not see us?" he queried, worriedly, glancing over at the apparition who was watching mother and son too.

"No," the spirit said, "We are invisible to them."

Gingerly, Arthur took a few steps forward, still aware of the heavy footfalls that his boots caused on the dirt floor. The women did not look up however, so he knew that his transparent companion was telling the truth. Now he was closer, he saw that the creature which he had seen before looked more like a baby now – without the blood and lying peacefully – its head poked out of the top of the blanket. He had a crumpled little face and a shock of hair the colour of pitch. So far, his eyes had not opened, as if they were glued shut with sticky resin that you often found on plants.

The woman was staring at her infant with tenderness and unconditional love in her eyes.

"Ghost," Arthur began, his tone commanding an answer, "Who is that child?"

"That, ignorant prince, is Merlin."

"_Merlin_?" Arthur repeated, astonished. "That's impossible. He was born years ago."

"It is years ago, hence the fact I am called the Ghost of Winter Past. We are twenty years before your present, at the birth of the village boy, Merlin."

"You're joking," Arthur shook his head, disbelievingly, staring at the tiny bundle that lay in his mother's arms. He would never look at his manservant in the same way ever again. "Why on earth have you brought me here, of all places? Surely, there could be someone better to witness the birth of than _Mer_lin."

He now realised why he recognised the young mother, it was Hunith of course, much younger but still relatively similar to how he remembered her. Now, she didn't wear the headscarf so her mahogany hair was allowed to tumble all about her shoulders and her eyes were bright with tears; cheeks red with exertion. Arthur realised that she was very pretty in her youth.

Her friend was asking her a number of questions, from what the prince could understand, she was querying as to whether she wanted the father to come in. Merlin's father, now there was a sight he wished to see, he wondered whether he would look anything like his son. Would they have the same lanky frame and big ears? The same expressionisms? The same ocean coloured eyes? Would he be as annoying?

"Merlin is at the heart of everything, Arthur; you must come to understand that. With our visits, you undoubtedly will." The spirit turned. "We shall leave now."

"And the point of this was?"

"To see a real humble beginning. That way you will appreciate what is to come."

Once more, they vanished.

* * *

Arthur started, once more unsure of his surroundings, as his feet hit solid ground with a jolt. His instincts kicked in and he barely stumbled. With an air of someone who was fed up of his situation, the young man made a face and looked around the place they had appeared in.

It was the same village, one that he now identified as Ealdor and evening was falling this time, rather than morning dawning. A hairy dog with drooping eyes and a weakly wagging tail plodded in between a gap in the houses, no doubt looking for a rat to chase or a cat to irritate. His nose was stuck to the ground, in search of smells. The sun was setting and an owl could already be heard hooting in the sky; its call soft and echoing.

In front of them stood a house that Arthur recognised as the one he had visited not that long ago, when coming to save the village from bandits. It looked, unsurprisingly; less ramshackle than it had when he last saw it, there were no creepers twisting through the brickwork and no cracks in the wall. The plants outside the door were fairly well tended to. He supposed, after twenty years, it had aged considerably. Tendrils of smoke swirled lazily from the chimney, floating up into the air before being enveloped by the darkening sky.

Suddenly, Arthur noticed a child, sitting in the dirt outside the house. His hair was a familiar inky black mess and his skin as pale as milk, angular features highlighted in the dying light. He was playing with a stick, waving it backwards and forwards, twirling it between his slender fingers and making shapes in the air. There was an intense look of concentration on his thin face.

Merlin.

Arthur couldn't help but stare. It was unnerving to see his manservant as a little boy; he could only be one or two and already looking underfed and gawky. The prince recalled his wet-nurse telling him that he'd been a stocky toddler with a strong will and a loud mouth; he doubted whether the same could be said about Merlin.

His unnatural blue eyes abruptly shifted from his stick and his ears seemed to perk up, listening. Perplexed, Arthur wondered what had attracted his attention. Then he heard it.

"Aurelius!" Hunith's voice was edged with desperation floated out of the house through an open window. "You are being ridiculous."

"I am not the _ridiculous _one, woman. You are the one being ridiculous. I knew that I should never have married you; you have brought me nothing but grief." It was a man's voice, one that Arthur did not recognised

"_Aurelius_," Hunith cried, clearly stung. "You cannot mean that."

"I do," he snapped. "I told you that we should hand him over, be done with it, its going to happen sooner or later. We can try again but you refuse! A woman should never refuse her husband anything."

Hunith was sobbing now. "But, Aurelius, he's my son, he's _our _son."

"He's no son of mine," the man retorted with such venom that a small boy sitting in the garden flinched. "He's a _freak_."

"Don't call him that!"

"A horrible, unwanted little freak."

"Aurelius!" Hunith's tone was admonishing.

"How do I even know he's mine, eh? Doesn't _look _like me. He doesn't _sound _like me. And he certainly didn't get his…._problem_, from me."

"It's not a problem; it's a gift. And of course he's yours."

"You are blinded by love, you stupid, irrational woman. That child is a _death _sentence. While he is living, there is an axe waiting above our heads, waiting to fall if just one wrong word is spoken."

Arthur had no idea what they were talking about. He couldn't understand it. It would seem that this vile man, who was being so rude and atrocious, insulting both his wife and his son, was Merlin's father. Judging by his voice, he was nothing like how the prince had imagined. Arthur couldn't comprehend why he was calling Merlin a freak; he may be a tad strange at times and very clumsy, unnaturally so, but that certainly didn't categorise him as a freak. Just annoying. And what on earth did he mean by a death sentence?

There was such a longing for him to understand, that he wanted to rush right in there and demand an answer. However, that wasn't possible. Instead, he looked at the Ghost of Winter Past to see if he would give him any clues. His expression remained blank. Fat lot of use he was.

Turning back to face the house, Arthur noticed, with a stab of pity, that Merlin was now sitting with his knees clutched to his chest, large eyes round with sorrow. The prince had assumed that, at such a young age, children couldn't understand much, wouldn't interpret what was being said but, looking at the way Merlin had reacted, he certainly understood something, whether it was just the anger and loathing behind the words or their actual meaning.

Hunith suddenly appeared in the window, her eyes fell on her son who sat on the ground outside. Those eyes filled with shining tears.

"Aurelius, he's your son, if you can't see how special he is and you won't protect him then I suggest that you just leave."

"Leave?" the man exclaimed, he sounded surprised, as if he hadn't even considered the thought. Then, "You're right. Why don't I just leave? It would make things much easier. You can keep your 'special' child. Just don't come crying to me when your head is on the chopping block…. and certainly not his."

With that, the rickety wooden door of the cottage flew open and a tall man strode out, bringing with him a whirlwind of anger and hate and disgust – it was as if he was surrounded in red, evil haze. Arthur tried to commit every detail to memory, that way; if he ever saw this man in his own time then he could take some revenge on him for what he had just said to Hunith and about Merlin.

His hair was dark brown and his eyes set wide apart on his face. Skin dark, suggesting he worked in the fields, that and his broad, muscular body. Arthur could tell why he didn't believe that Merlin was his son. They looked nothing alike. Except…their eyes….they shared the same startlingly blue eyes. Orbs that seemed as if they could look into your soul. Unlike Merlin's, however, his were flashing with rage and odium – dancing like stormy seas.

Face set in a hard, determined expression, the young man blew passed his son who watched him go without saying a word, as if he was already resigned to what was happening. Merlin's father didn't even spare him a departing glance.

And then he was gone, vanishing into the depths of the forest, no way of tracking him down ever again.

Arthur started after him, dumbfounded; he couldn't believe how wrong he'd been about Merlin's father, or in fact, his whole past so far. From what he'd seen, the boy had not had an easy time of it. Even so, whatever made him such a 'freak' Arthur was yet to see and he had to admit, he was ever so slightly intrigued.

Yet, as he looked to his right, he remembered how he had come to be here and any feelings for Merlin that he had begun to feel evaporated immediately. The Ghost of Winter Past was just hovering there, watching him and he felt like he was being evaluated, picked apart and read. He felt like he was being predictable and he didn't like that. Arthur was never one to do what was expected. Just because he discovered that Merlin had a sob story which he had never told him about didn't mean that he would suddenly become a better king. What a ludicrous notion. If that was the best that this spirit could do then he had another thing coming.

Arthur couldn't believe he'd allowed himself to start feeling sorry for his manservant. Merlin deserved no more sympathy than anyone else. He was sure that plenty of other peasants had similar tales to tell.

"Was that it?" he sniped, ungratefully.

The apparition didn't look surprised. Arthur wasn't even sure if it was even possible for him to show emotions. If he was the ghost of the past did that mean he knew the future too? Did he know how the prince would react every time? Perhaps, that was why he wasn't shocked.

"Yes, that is the second window I will give you into the childhood of your young friend."

"He's not my friend."

Ignoring him, the ghost gave the raven haired toddler one last look and then shook his head before twirling slightly so they disappeared once more, melting out of the picture as quickly as they had arrived.

* * *

The sound of children's laughter reached Arthur's ears as he arrived at the next destination. He pondered how much further they had jumped in Merlin's timeline this time. Was he nearing being an adult yet? What more could the Ghost of Winter Past show him that could be of interest? Surely, a simple farming boy had little more mysteries in his past. Merlin wasn't _that _fascinating; Arthur had learnt that from experience.

Astoundingly, he found himself just wanting to return to his own bed to get some sleep. He even wouldn't mind sticking out the Winter Festival if he could escape this trip down dreary memory lane…actually, that wasn't entirely true, he still wouldn't be able to stand that damn festival.

Why were those children laughing? It was getting annoying now, a background noise that he just couldn't shut out. Usually, he was the master of blocking out unwanted sounds, for instance, he could instantly mute a cheering crowd when he needed to focus for battle or drown out all the other sounds of the forest when searching for one prey in particular. It was a skill of his. Nonetheless, this time, the sound was persistent and he seemed to just not be able to ignore it; it was drawing him nearer.

Resigning himself to discovering what the fuss was about, Arthur looked over at his companion and saw that he was watching him once more, with that blank expression of indifference on his pale, adult-yet-child face. It would seem that perhaps he should take the initiative, so he stepped forward and followed his ears.

They were in a forest this time, he doubted whether they could be far from Ealdor but it was not actually in sight. The tree trunks were relatively dense and a thick carpet of russet leaves carpeted the ground. That suggested the season was either late autumn or early winter. Most likely winter, considering who he was with. Glancing up into the sky, he saw, through the sparse canopy, that the day was overcast – grey, bloated clouds hanging, suspended in the heavens. It would, indubitably, rain sooner or later. He hoped they wouldn't be there when it happened. He was only wearing his thin blue shirt, which he had grabbed just before the spirit had brought him on this night jaunt, trousers and a pair of loose boots. They weren't exactly waterproof or chill proof.

The laughter was growing louder. He must be close.

Striding through a bramble thicket, the perpetrators of the noise pollution came into view. There were six children altogether, ranging in age from about eight to twelve or thirteen - all boys. Now he was closer, Arthur found that their laughter sounded more sinister, more mocking. They seemed to be gathered around the foot of a thick oak tree and he wondered what on earth they were sniggering at.

It wasn't until, the laughter died down and he heard them speak, did he realise.

"Hey, guys, I have an idea, why don't we make him wet himself?!" One loud, nasty voice piped up and there was a jeering consensus.

"Make him pee his dirty pants!"

"What do you think, wart, will you pee your pants for us or will we have to make you do it by force?"

"My _name _is _Merlin_," a small, defiant voice stated from among the crowd of heads.

"No, dimwit, you're called wart. A little stinking, ugly wart on the face of the earth." The boy and his cronies cackled, horribly. "Now, if you don't piss in your smelly wart pants then I'll punch you in the stomach until you do!"

Arthur was horrified. He stood, flabbergasted, by the scene that was unfolding before him; he was too stunned for words. Never had he believed that youngsters could be so abominable to one another, so harsh and crass and downright disgusting. And to _Merlin _of all people. Why would anyone think it fun to torment Merlin? _What? Like you do? _A small voice in the back of his head said, darkly. Arthur ignored it.

The prince wasn't sure whether he should intervene. He certainly didn't want to bear witness to Merlin having his head kicked in.

"I won't do it. You can't make me," Merlin's voice was trembling but he stood his ground, blue eyes hard with determination. Arthur had to admire his gall but shake his head at his stupidity. Even Merlin wasn't foolish enough to think he could take on six boys who were much bigger than himself and win, surely? Then again, Merlin didn't really tend to think.

"If that's how you want it," the leader of the pack's lip curled in a wolfish grin. He was homing in on his helpless prey. The group was closing in, circling the fresh meat. Merlin had no chance of escape as he backed up to the tree, feeling the roughness of its bark through the flimsy material of his shirt.

Arthur didn't want to watch. Like he said before, he didn't want to see his manservant hurt, especially not in the skinny, fragile looking body that he currently occupied. One well aimed punch and surely he would shatter like a piece of broken porcelain.

There was no escape. Fists were raised, ready to fall in a rain of agonising blows. But those blows never reached their target….

Because one moment Merlin was there, standing at the bottom of the tree, with no means of getting away, and the next he had vanished – just like that. Arthur blinked, stunned. The bullying boys seemed shocked too as they stared around, dumbly, wondering where their victim had gone. An amused chuckle sounded and Arthur's keen senses immediately honed in on where his junior manservant was.

Somehow, Merlin had ended up in the high up branches of the tree from which he had been seeking protection. He was peering down with a smug expression on his pale face; he shot them all a cheeky grin when they looked up at him. Typical Merlin. Arthur couldn't even fathom how he'd got up there so quickly. The tree looked impossible to climb, even for him, a full grown, athletic adult. The trunk had to be ten feet in length with no visible foot or handholds before any branches sprung out. For the youngster to shimmy up there in a matter of seconds was astonishing. But that was what he must have done, wasn't it?

"How?" One of the boys yelped, his eyes widened with anger and confusion. "How the hell did you get up there, you wretch? Come down, now."

"What?" Merlin laughed, "So you can beat me to a pulp? I don't think so, thank you very much."

All the boys frowned. Their fun had been ruined and there was nothing they could do about it. A couple tried to begin climbing the tree but they had no chance, the trunk's surface was practically flat.

"We'll get you tomorrow, Merlin! Mark my words."

"I'm looking forward to it," Merlin yelled back, ever chipper. His face was lit up by his trademark dazzling grin that Arthur recognised from many encounters with it. He was surprised to see it now, though, on such a young boy.

The group left and Merlin was left, alone, in his tree. He didn't show any signs of leaving any time soon, however; in fact he sat back in the bough of the tree and seemed to doze off.

Having seen that his manservant was going to be harmed and was actually perfectly fine; enough to have a kip anyway, Arthur spun round to face the Ghost of Winter Past. The childlike figure was facing away from him, seeming to survey the world around it. With a light, whimsical sigh, it turned back to look at him. Their eyes met.

"We have completed the first stage of your journey," it said.

"We have?" Arthur repeated, quirking an eyebrow. He didn't feel like he had learnt much, to be honest, except that perhaps, Merlin didn't have the easy childhood that he'd assumed he'd had. He had a wayward father and group of bullies that seemed to be on his tail but what other than that? He didn't feel like he'd learnt anything deep and meaningful. Was the spirit about to explain things to him? Hopefully, otherwise he was completely lost.

"Yes. I will now return you to your bedchamber. On the next hour, a second ghost will appear to you and take you on the next step on your path to become king. Take your time to mull over what you have seen, borne witness to, try and understand what has been said or eluded to. Details shall be the making of you, Arthur Pendragon."

"That doesn't even make sense," Arthur frowned, but the spirit had vanished and he found himself standing in his room once more. "But I still don't understand what the _hell _Merlin has to do with all this?" he shouted, frustrated, at no one in particular.

**Please review. **


	3. The Ghost of Winter Present

**Author's Note - Thank you very, very much for all the lovely reviews. They have driven me to write this next chapter as soon as possible. I hope you enjoy it. **

**Only another week until Merlin :/ I'm counting down. More topless Arthur. Yummy. Half term next week! Double yay!**

The moon was glinting like omniscient eye in the night sky, surrounded by a tapestry of sparkling stars. Occasionally, a lone meteor would skim over the velvet backdrop and leave a glimmering, fizzing orangey trail of dust in its wake. A group of fruit bats streaked through the air, a writhing, bubbling mass of black bodies that were silhouetted like some great black tar monster against the navy blue heavens.

Prince Arthur was once more in his chambers. He was leaning against the cold brickwork of the outer wall, feeling the coolness of the stone seep into his skin and calm him considerably. Now he was less hot and bad-tempered. A night breeze which streamed in through his open window, tickled the nape of his neck. Usually, in the dead of winter, one did not have any of their windows or doors opened for fear that things inside would begin to freeze. Every night, latches and handles had to be checked because it was not unheard of for a person to go to bed in the evening and then never wake up because they had frozen and died of hypothermia in the night chill. Considering that Arthur was awake, he deemed himself responsible enough to close the window when he felt it was getting too much. He wasn't a child after all.

Speaking of children, his mind had been consumed with thoughts of Merlin for a good length of time now. He couldn't shake the image of the coal-headed toddler sitting outside his tumbledown home whilst his mother and father argued. The child had looked so dejected and disappointed; heartbroken by his father's betrayal. How on earth, Aurelius – that was his name, wasn't it? – could view his son as a freak was beyond Arthur. Merlin was barely more than a _baby_; surely, the man couldn't have formed such a view of him by then?

It annoyed and irritated him that he couldn't stop thinking about the visions that that damn stupid ghost had shown to him. They had no meaning, no relevance; they were just a strange and mostly unwelcome insight into the childhood of his manservant. He barely thought about his own infancy, let alone _Merlin's _of all people.

Then again, he recalled how the Ghost of Winter Past had told him about whose past they were about to visit. It described Merlin as a man "whose destiny has been intertwined with yours since birth." Grudgingly, Arthur admitted that must mean _something_. Just what, though, he hadn't a clue. Now he had to hang around waiting for another one of these ludicrous, rude, riddle-speaking spectres to appear. Didn't they realise he had better things to do? Like sleep, perhaps?

Maybe, whilst he waited, he should go find the young man himself and shake him, unceremoniously from _his _sleep. Perhaps, this was some elaborate practical joke that Merlin was playing on him; some ploy to make him give him less chores to do. Well, Arthur thought, irritably, it wasn't going to work. As soon as this nonsensical charade was over, he would give the idiot more jobs than he would ever have believed possible. Until then though, he would let the boy stew and deal with these apparitions as they came. This time, he would be less open, less gullible.

As he pondered over the idea of maybe capturing one of these ghosts and bringing it to his father as a prize – he could imagine the look of pride on his battle-scarred face now – Arthur was suddenly aware of another presence in the room. He froze.

The feeling of someone's gaze on him caused him to turn slowly, cautiously, around on the spot, away from his view out of the window. Standing, blocking the door to his room, stood a giant of a man. He was a huge, towering fellow who Arthur could only liken, in his massiveness and broadness, to an ancient oak tree (the ones that grew for thousands of years in the forest). Even from this distance, the young prince was certain that if he stood beside the man the top of his head would only reach his shoulder – if that. It was impossible for anyone to be so big. Surely?

At least he looked more human than the last one, with a round face as wide as a meat dish and jolly eyes the colour of the holly which sat in a crown upon his head. His hair was a dark brown, wild and curly; an enormous, untamed beard sprouting from his chin. In his chunky fist, he held a flaming torch which cast dancing shadows across the walls. Looking closely, Arthur was astounded to see that these shadows _were _in fact in the shape of people, actually, they reminded him of the tales he'd heard of jigging fairy folk: sprites and pixies and elves. They danced, gaily, across the stonework.

"Prince Arthur," he boomed.

Arthur could have sworn the whole room shook; he had to steady himself in shock. If the Ghost continued like that then he would wake the entire castle.

"Keep it down, will you?" Arthur hissed, frantically, his blue eyes narrowing.

"Good eve to you, young prince," the spirit smiled, his voice had lowered somewhat, "I am the Ghost of Winter Present."

"Great," Arthur snapped.

"I have come to show-"

However, the blond haired noble interrupted him. He couldn't be bothered with the small talk. "I'm guessing, judging by your name and my previous experience with your collaborator, that you are here to show me the present? Not that I couldn't look myself considering I am here already…surprisingly. Will this be about Merlin again? Surely, I could just go and ask him what's up without you _showing_ me."

The giant gave him an unfathomable look and then his oval face broke into a merry grin once more. "Ho, ho, you certainly have a lot of cynicism inside of you, young man. You shouldn't view the world in such a disparaging light; thank the gods for every moment you have on this earth and enjoy it."

Arthur frowned. Somehow, this spirit managed to be even more irritating than the last. He was like one of those many Dukes or Lords that visited his father when he was small and used to ruffle his hair or chuck his chin and tell him what a good son he was and what a great king he would one day make. He recalled, with some glee, kicking one of them in the shin for their troubles.

If he was going to have to go on his next trip was this one then he was going to have to steel himself.

"Are we going then?" he asked, bluntly.

"Why such a hurry?" the gargantuan man chuckled but he pulled his green cloak further around himself and gestured for Arthur to come closer. The prince, reluctantly, complied. Reaching out, the phantom took hold of his arm, encircling it completely in his palm before stamping his heavy boot on the floorboards. Arthur was certain they would splinter beneath the force. "Let us go then, impatient prince."

* * *

It was late morning and the air was crisp, the ground still dusted with a layer of glistening snow. Peasants were going about their daily jobs but there was more levity to their actions, more bounce in their steps, as if they were excited about something. A group of children played in the street, dragging colourful streamers out behind them in order to tempt a wiry little dog who jumped and yipped at their heels. They were wrapped up warmly but their attitudes didn't indicate how deadly cold the weather was; cheeks rosy and glowing. The houses around were decorated with wreaths and ribbons and signs, indicating the upcoming celebration.

The atmosphere was so cold that when Arthur appeared with the Ghost of Christmas Present, his teeth began to chatter immediately and he could see his breath freezing in the air.

"Damn, its bloody cold," he hissed through clenched teeth.

"Its winter," the giant said, simply, "Winter Festival's Eve, just before lunch, if I'm correct."

Arthur made a face. "Technically, we're in the past then. This has already happened. I thought you were supposed to be the 'Ghost of Winter Present'?" His expression was sceptical.

"Well," the spectre smiled, slightly, obviously amused by his charge's pernickety nature, "I suppose you could call it close to the present. If you really think about it, everything is in the past. What I just said is in the past now, isn't it? And now….and now…..and now-"

"All right, all right, I get the picture," Arthur interrupted, sighing. "So, where are we?"

"We are in the city of Camelot, see the castle."

He gestured to the grand building that stood, tall and proud and pale towering above all the tiny peasant's cottages and hovels, much like the ghost himself. With the sky being clear blue behind it, the castle was a formidable, majestic sight; for a moment – just a moment – Arthur couldn't believe he actually lived there.

"Right, so what now?"

"I just want you to observe, Arthur. Less haste and more seeing; really _look _at your surroundings, young prince, one day, this will all be yours. You must rule it well. These people are human beings, not possessions, not pawns."

Blinking, Arthur turned on the spot, surveying the world around him objectively. He wasn't really sure what he was meant to be seeing. Then again, perhaps, that was the point. The answers are in the details, that's what the last spirit had implied.

All he could see was a young woman bouncing a little boy on her narrow hip, she was smiling at him and offering him a sweetmeat which was shaped as a holly leaf, delicately sprinkled with sugar. His podgy hand reached out for the treat in pleasure; he jiggled happily in his mother's arms. Arthur recognised that at any other time of the year, a peasant boy would never have been allowed such a delicacy but it was Winter Festival and therefore it was allowed. In fact, the sweetmeat shop was just a couple of houses down, a brightly coloured – if slightly tatty – wooden sign hanging above its door. Outside, the owner, a man with flaming red hair and freckles, was handing out treats left, right and centre. The ragamuffins, who had been playing with their dog, hurried up and received a silvery snowflake made from marzipan; their faces alight with delight.

Arthur understood that this man was doing a very generous thing. He was probably making several people's day.

Further down the street, an old man was staggering slowly along with a stick under one arm to support him. His hair was snow-white and fell down his back in gentle waves. His eyes were rheumy and his hands mottled with liver spots and wrinkled like the sagging skin of a bloodhound. It was obvious that he was crippled on one side.

The snow and ice were making it hard going for him to keep his balance along the uneven path and Arthur knew, even before it happened, that he was going to fall. He went to leap forward and stop the fellow tumbling onto the hard, dirt floor but he wasn't quick enough. Although he looked as light as a bird, the man fell heavily and Arthur winced. There was something so pitiful about him lying there, limbs twisted painfully and face creased with hurt. However, before he could even contemplate whether it would be possible for him to help him even though he wasn't even meant to be there, the young woman with the baby had rushed over. Her brown eyes soft with concern.

"Are you all right, sir? Can I give you a hand up?" She said this as she held her own child under one arm.

"Oh, no, no, I'm fine," the fellow shook his head, although it was plain for all to see that he wasn't.

"Look, if I just give you my hand…" the girl shifted her son and grabbed the stranger's hand. "One, two, three…hup." Somehow, with strength that Arthur could never have foreseen in such a slight woman, the young mother hauled the injured peasant to his feet. He stumbled for a moment but then regained balance; he tested his weight.

"I can fetch a physician?" the girl offered.

Smiling, the gentleman shook his head. "No, now I'm up, I'll be just fine. Many thanks to you, young lady."

She let out a small laugh. "I'm no Lady."

"Every girl is a lady inside," the old man informed her, genuinely, patting her hand. "I best be off. Don't want to miss my dinner. My wife will be worrying." With that, he hobbled off.

The young girl was left standing in the street, with her baby in the crook of one arm and a small smile gracing her pretty features. Arthur watched her turn slowly and return to her own little house.

"Shall we move on?" the Ghost of Winter Present questioned.

"Yes, surely we are nearly done though?" Arthur, despite being pensive for a second, returned to his normal, default irritable, impatient setting.

"A couple more trips, yet, young man."

* * *

They were in the castle now; Arthur recognised the massive stones that made up the thick, impenetrable walls. However, he wasn't in a place that he was used to being in. After seeing several servants hurrying past, he realised that he was, in fact, in the servant's quarters. In order to make sure they stayed out of the way of the king and visiting dignitaries for the most part, the staff of Camelot had a series of back passages, secret flights of steps and other rooms which royalty never ventured into and servants tried to stick to. Once or twice, in his childhood years, Arthur had ventured into the kitchens or the sewing rooms only to be shooed out, immediately, and told never to come back; 'this is not a place for princes' that's what they said.

And now he was here. So far, it seemed the ghosts enjoyed taking him places that he shouldn't be or make him see things that he was never meant to witness.

It was odd being there and watching various handmaidens, grooms, odd-job boys, messengers, washerwomen, heralds, stable lads and kitchen workers rushing back and forth. They all seemed to be moving with a lot of haste but yet still had time to natter, excitably as they moved; the girls especially laughed and giggled their way down the corridor to vanish through a door at the end. He never realised there were quite so many people that worked behind the scenes in his home. So many things he had taken for granted must have been actually done by someone. He wasn't sure why he had assumed there was always fresh straw strewn on some of the older floors of the castle corridors or why his windows were always clean or why there was always a bowl of fruit in his chambers for him to pluck at when he so wished. Who did he think had done it? Looking back, he wasn't sure.

Wobbling passed; a young boy carried a massive pile of plates along the corridor. Arthur had no idea how he was going to navigate the stairs which led up to the exit of the passageway but, impossibly, he managed it. Experience, the prince guessed. He even managed to open the heavy door on his own.

Seconds later, a woman half walked, half ran back in the opposite direction, she hitched up her purple skirts so they would not hinder her. Her auburn hair flowed out behind her, escaping from beneath a cotton hat; cheeks pink with exertion. She vanished through a nearby door and then reappeared seconds later with several piping hot dishes balanced on her slender arms.

"Aggie, wait a moment, you forgot the pig's trotters!"

Drawing to an abrupt halt, the woman turned back to the door from which she had come and jogged back in. She came back out with another plate, balanced somehow in the crook of her elbow. Arthur realised, as he looked at the various dishes, that this was the meal which he and several other hundred guests had eaten earlier in the day – well, now, he guessed. He realised that he would be sitting in the Dining Hall now, listening to some old toad drivel on about nonsense….stuffing his face with the food the servants were slaving over.

A lad who could be only about seven or eight sprinted down the length of the corridor, his muddy boots trailing a path of dirt on the already well trampled floor. His face was streaked with brown filth and there were bits of straw in his dark brown hair. He was so skinny that half his clothes seemed to be falling off him; his trousers were held up with a piece of rope that Arthur realised must have been cut off one of the horses' lead ropes as this child could only be a stable boy. You only got that dirty working with animals – that is, unless you were Merlin. He could find a pile of muck anywhere and fall in it very easily.

"Logan!" A man opened a door to the right of the corridor and the youngster skidded to a halt. "Where have you been? I've been looking all over for you. Another damn party has arrived from Berkshire of somewhere like that – not that I bleedin' care. Anyway, I need you to stable their horses. Make sure they're well fed and rubbed down this time, the last Lord complained about the state they were left in."

"I'm sorry, Melchior, its just there are so many and I'm so tired and I forget which ones I have done and which I haven't."

"I understand that, Logan, but you need to keep the standard up. The King will have you in the stocks if you're not careful. He expects only the best and if any of the guests complain…" The older man shook his head, gravely. "Keep your chin up, boy."

Logan sighed, wearily, and turned tail before rushing back in the direction he'd come.

Arthur watched him leave and then glanced over at the apparition who was stood beside him. It was strange to think of him as a ghost because his presence felt so real, he _looked _real, but Arthur wasn't bold enough to touch him and see if his fingers connected with thin air. That would probably really put things into perspective and it was probably easier not think of the reality of his situation; just go with the flow.

The giant gestured for him to follow as he strode down the corridor, towards the door which Aggie had retrieved her platters from earlier.

"You must see this," the spectre stated, simply.

Arthur followed reluctantly, not sure that he was going to like what he was about to see.

The oak door swung open and the prince found himself hit by a barrage of heat, so hot that he had to take a step back before managing to push forward. He couldn't see much when he entered the kitchens because it was enveloped in a heavy blanket of smoke; he had to cough several times to clear his throat of the irritating particles. Immediately, his eyes began to water. How on earth could anyone stand to be in here? Let alone work!

Covering his mouth with his sleeve, Arthur peered through the semi darkness, picking out the hearths that were causing all the air pollution and the servants who were working diligently: stirring stews, chopping various foods, rolling pastries and performing a variety of other tasks. Their faces were smudged with sweat and soot, red from the heat that they were working with.

Spluttering, Arthur knew that he could not stand it in there for much longer and so he turned and walked quickly out, eyes streaming. With relief, he breathed in a lungful of cool, clean air. Even so, he could still feel the smoke clinging to his clothes and the soot to his skin in a paper thin layer.

"That's _horrible_," he coughed.

Obviously, the spirit, being a spirit, couldn't be affected by such trivial things as smoke and heat. It looked at Arthur with a half amused, half pitying expression on its face, its expressive eyes connecting with his.

"That's the life of your kitchen staff. Especially, when there is such a big event coming up."

"But-" Arthur coughed again, "How can they be expected to work like that? It's unbelievable. If I'd had any idea…"

"Would you have done anything?" the ghost asked him, doubtfully.

"Yes…" he sounded unsure for a second, but then recollected himself, "Of course I would."

The giant phantom stroked his unruly beard and raised an eye brow.

Before he could say anything, however, a familiar figure barrelled down the passage, almost stumbling over his own unnaturally long legs in the process. Merlin was like a recently born colt, skittering unevenly along the flagged stone floor, he had the gangly look of a colt – skinny and knobbly. In fact, now Arthur looked more closely, was his manservant looking even thinner than usual? He often didn't look at Merlin when he came to collect his washing or tidy his chambers. He tended to talk at him rather than to him and was therefore often distracted by other things.

Now he was looking at him from a different point of view he saw that Merlin was very, very skinny: his cheekbones were unusually prominent on his face and his collarbones protruded unnaturally from his chest. His clothes hung off him like the garments which hung of hangers in Arthur's wardrobe – loose and ill fitting. The young prince could have sworn that when he first met the peasant boy, he had filled out his shirt more.

He watched, entranced, as his manservant loped down the corridor and pushed open a door. Arthur peered in after him and saw that he'd entered a sewing room. Several elderly women sat around on chairs, busily stitching away.

"Hi, my lovely ladies," he shot them that charming grin of his, which lit up his entire face, "I've come to collect Prince Arthur's trousers and that shirt he ripped in sword practice."

"Merlin!" they all cried in unison, obviously happy to see him.

"How lovely of you to brighten our day with that smile; I've told you, you should really bottle it and sell it. You'd make a fortune," one of the women exclaimed, placing her work down and walking over to the cupboard where they kept their completed jobs. She rummaged inside and brought out a black pair of trousers that Arthur recalled splitting the seams of when he jumped off his horse.

"If only I could find a way, Kayla, if only," Merlin smiled again.

"Perhaps then you wouldn't have to work for that blasted prince. He's such a pig to you, Merlin. I don't know how you put up with it, I swear, he treats you more as a slave than a servant."

"He's not that bad," Merlin protested, feebly.

"Aw," another woman piped up, "Poor chicken, I bet you're dead on your feet. When was the last time you had a break?"

"Well…"

"He can't even remember that's how bad it is. You should quit. I would."

"I can't," he blurted out, empathically.

"Why ever not?"

"I-I can't explain," Merlin shook his head, his ears reddening at the tips. "Thanks for this, I'll see you in a couple of days, I expect."

"All right, Merlin," Kayla patted his shoulder, "If you won't leave then make sure you feed yourself properly and rest enough. We don't want you collapsing again. Do it, for us."

"Of course, Kayla, anything for you."

Merlin bid them goodbye and then set off at a fast jog, leaping up a flight of stairs and out of sight.

Arthur stared after him, stupefied. He was stunned by what had been said; it couldn't be true, could it? Surely, he wasn't working his manservant so hard that he was forgetting to eat and sleep so much so he collapsed? No, the prince had seen him eat, hadn't he? With difficulty, Arthur tried to recall any time that he'd seen Merlin eat. Well, apart from the time that he'd forced him to consume that rat stew. But he had to have eaten; otherwise he would have wasted away completely. Obviously, he wasn't eating enough though.

That woman said that he worked Merlin like a slave but he didn't think he gave him _that _many jobs. Just a normal amount. However, now he thought about it, he realised that even his father's personal manservant didn't work as many hours as Merlin did. The young raven-haired man was always the first to start his day and last to leave – on Arthur's orders. He didn't have a choice.

A sick feeling of guilt mounted in the pit of Arthur's stomach.

Had he caused this severe underweight look that Merlin was now sporting? Was he the one who had forced those dark bags to form under the young man's eyes? Why hadn't Merlin said anything? Surely, if he had been suffering that much then he could have realised that he could have asked for a break?

Yet, he seemed so loathe to stop working for Arthur, which was astonishing considering the circumstances. Arthur couldn't fathom why he was not even prepared to think about leaving the prince's service – if it was that bad. What could be keeping him there? There must be other jobs out there for him to do if it was money he was worried about. He could, undoubtedly, work for Gaius, like he had been planning to do before he got the job in the castle: being the physician's apprentice.

"Are you starting to understand things better, Arthur?" the Ghost of Winter Present queried.

"If anything," he frowned, "I'm _more _confused."

The giant spectre let out massive, booming bark of a laugh which could've been mistaken for a thunder clap and then waved his torch. Everything dissolved into darkness.

* * *

And once more they appeared, Arthur recognised the scene immediately and with instant regret, he recalled what occurred.

"Merlin, are you a complete _fool_? Are you utterly incompetent of doing anything I ask you?" The 'other Arthur' prodded his manservant with unnecessary force, causing the young man to stumble backward. At the time, he had thought Merlin was just being his usual clumsy, defenceless self but, from this angle, he could see the way the boy was fighting not only Arthur but tiredness, his entire body oozed weariness and he swayed, not just from the push. "Were you born an idiot or were you dropped on your head as a child?"

Arthur cringed at his words; how crass they sounded after what he'd witnessed.

Good, old Merlin tried to remain cheerful despite his fatigue. "I believe I may have been kicked by an ass when I was about four." His jovial smile covered up his true emotions. It was a shield as well as a peacemaker. "Or maybe that was last week? When I forgot to wash your favourite socks?"

"_Mer_lin," Arthur sighed, "Are you calling me an ass…_again_?"

"It seems to becoming a bit of a habit, sire, I'm sorry, I will try and quash it in future," Merlin smirked, his blue eyes dancing playfully.

However, where sometimes Arthur would have played along and teased and jibed him back, he wasn't in the mood for it. Arthur remembered being absolutely livid at his servant's continued rudeness and audacity; he just wanted his jobs done, not to have a banter about it along the way. At this point, he'd just been informed that he had to entertain a group of sons from another kingdom and he wasn't happy about it. Therefore, he was taking out his anger and frustration on the poor, unsuspecting Merlin. A Merlin, who, judging by prior, recently learned, evidence, was doing his best already.

"Next time, do the job properly or I'll have you fired. Do you understand?" the 'other Arthur' stated, coldly.

Merlin's face fell and suddenly he looked extremely worn, like a teddy that had been thrown one too many a time and had the stuffing knocked out of it once and for all. "Yes, my lord."

"And I don't want you going home until you've done every _single _task. Got it?"

"Loud and clear," Merlin murmured, his eyes dulling by the second.

"Good. I will be in my chambers."

Present Arthur wasn't sure whether it was possible to feel any more terrible than he already did. He didn't realise there was yet still more to come. It hurt him awfully to see how he maltreated his servant. The way he spoke to him in such a nasty, condescending tone and the way he pushed and shoved him about. He hated himself for it. He'd never thought of himself as cruel but the previous ghost was correct, he really was. Also, he was completely blind, most likely because he was so self-centred. If he wasn't concerned with only himself and his needs all the time then perhaps he would have noticed Merlin's deterioration. As soon as he got half a chance, he was going to make sure Merlin got a break from his duties and good feeding up too. He would feed him from his own plate if he had to.

"I see you have learnt your first lesson in humility," the Ghost of Winter Present's voice cut through his thoughts like a hunting horn. "You have reached a turning point, I believe, young Pendragon. However, there is still much more to learn. I will leave the teaching of those lessons to the next spirit. He will arrive on the next hour, exactly on the dot. I must warn you not to be alarmed by his chilling presence or his lack of words. That is just how he is. Hopefully, we will never meet again."

And then he was gone.

**Please review you lovely, lovely people!**

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	4. The Ghost of Winter Yet to Come

**Author's Note - Thank you to everyone for their fantastic reviews of last chapter. They made me very happy. Sorry this chapter has been longer coming but it was much harder to write. As will the next one be so be prepared for a small wait. You will understand why.**

**Warning: there is one swear word in this chapter. **

**Hope you like!**

The last ghost appeared, just as the previous one had said, exactly on the hour, standing silently at the edge of the room; so silent, in fact, that it had taken Arthur a couple of minutes to actually realise it was there. When he did, however, he wished he hadn't. There was a macabre, chilling feeling which immediately fell upon him when he looked at the ghoulish spirit; like all his joyful emotions had been sucked out of him only to be replaced with fear and hate and anger.

It was dressed in a long black cloak with a hood over its head so Arthur couldn't even see its face or its shadowed eyes. In its hand it held a scythe like the ones the villagers used to hoe their fields with when the corn was ready to come down. There was something very unnerving about its appearance; he was reminded of the pictures on tapestries which showed depictions of death.

"Good evening," he stated, coolly, but the apparition said nothing. "I'm guessing you are the 'Ghost of Winter Yet to Come'?" He said this with more bravado then he felt. Still no reply.

Instead, the spirit beckoned him with one skeletal finger that appeared from the folds at the front of his cloak. Arthur gulped. Considering he hadn't particularly liked his last visit, he was fairly certain that he wouldn't enjoy this one much either. To see one's future, surely that wasn't a good idea? He would live the rest of his life now, knowing what was going to happen.

Still, he approached the phantom, tentatively, and jerked with surprise as he was yanked off his feet by the same invisible force which had grasped him two times before.

* * *

Arthur stumbled as he reappeared. His heart thumped loudly in his chest. He wasn't quite sure why he was so scared. He didn't tend to be frightened of anything but this time he could just _sense _that bad things were about to occur; fear seeped into his very bones, weighing them down.

He found himself in a narrow alleyway, sandwiched between a series of houses on either side. The smell of piss and rotting meat reached his nostrils; he retched involuntarily. Although the area in which he stood was dark, he couldn't help but feel that it was not actually night time. For one, he could not see the moon in the sky or the stars. In fact, looking up into the heavens rocked him to his core for the sky was a violent, malevolent red streaked with fiery orange and threatening black like someone had turned it into a scorching furnace which looked as if could envelop the earth in one gulp. Arthur was reminded of the gates of hell; a raging inferno of terror.

Shocked and appalled, Arthur turned to the spectre which stood solemnly beside him. "Why is the sky like that?"

Once more, he received no answer.

He was about to move out of the alley in order to get a better, less obstructed view of the heavens when something rushed passed him. Leaping back, out of the way, Arthur watched as a lone goat skittered and skidded along the cobbles, seeming not to care where it went or what it hit as long as it was moving. Its eyes rolled in its head like two white marbles, part of its snowy coat had been burnt clean away and there was a large wound, dripping blood, gashed into its side. Arthur stared after it, stunned.

He marched in the direction from which it had come, mentally preparing himself for what he was about to witness. Stepping out from between the dilapidated houses, the young prince found his mouth dropping open in disbelief.

The landscape was skeletal: the forest which had once spread out across the hills was burnt and smoking, the trees' branches charred and twisted; many of the cottages' roofs had fallen in and stonework had been knocked over so masonry was strewn across the streets; the crop fields were completely barren.

Arthur noticed, immediately, that there was not one human or animal about. He spun on the spot, his eyes raking the area for the signs of life. Usually, one would expect to be lots of citizens milling around the streets of Camelot: children playing like in his earlier vision, women washing clothes, men working with wood. But there was _no one_. Not a soul.

And then he saw them. The bodies. Littered among the debris and detritus, like dolls discarded after play. It seemed that nobody had been spared, whether young or old, man or woman, they had been cut down by some unknown force of evil. Glassy eyes stared up at the heavens as if drinking in the last image they would ever get of this planet and mouths remained opened where they had been when their owner died – eternally registering an expression of complete and utter terror.

The prince felt sick. He vomited, violently, in the gutter.

"What _happened _here?" he exclaimed, appalled and bewildered. He glared daggers at his companion, not happy with the lack of answers he was receiving. "Tell me, Ghost, I demand that you tell me what has occurred here!"

Where Arthur imagined the spectre's face was, he searched for eyes, peering under the black material for any indicator that this being was actually present and listening to him. What he saw beneath that hood, he would not forget for the rest of his life; it was an image so terrible it would be imprinted on his memory for eternity. Recoiling in abhorrence, Arthur backed away. This phantom was way creepier than either of the other two. He didn't feel safe.

Turning away, the prince wished he was back home, in fact, he wished he was anywhere except this desolate landscape. This was the ruins of his kingdom. But what had caused it? Was this really the future? He couldn't bear the idea that it was.

Arthur was suddenly aware of something in his peripherals; his hunter's eyes picking out the slightest movement. Wondering whether it was another stray goat or something more sinister, the young man looked round and his heart jumped with something akin to relief when he saw what had caused his senses to be alerted.

A solitary cloaked figure made its way up the deserted main street. It moved with an air of grace and dignity and a strong stride that Arthur associated with determination. Wherever this person was headed, they were on a mission. The head never turned, never spared a glance for the destruction around it and Arthur pondered whether that was out of revulsion or indifference. Perhaps, this indeterminate figure could be one of the ones that caused this annihilation, that's why it remained where others had fled or perished. Somehow, though, Arthur knew that it wasn't.

Intrigued by this anomaly on an otherwise bleak canvas, the prince fell into step just a few metres behind the swiftly moving form. He was struck by the sudden need to know who it was and where exactly they were headed.

His latter question was answered just a short time later when he looked up into the distance and caught sight of a castle. This was not just any castle, it was Camelot Castle but not how Arthur remembered it. Now, it looked positively abandoned, there was none of the usual might and resplendence that one observed when looking at it. The building, physically, was in ruins: turrets shattered; battlements had great holes torn out of them; practically the entire left wing of the castle was gone, open to the elements and any pillagers that wished to enter.

Arthur stared in horror.

It looked empty of life, much like the rest of the city which sprawled out at its feet. The young man could not believe that what had been such a rock in for all of his existence was now derelict and broken. Camelot couldn't have fallen, could it?

Yet the cloaked missionary continued up the winding street towards the once magnificent castle. That must mean that _someone_, _anyone_, remained in the ruined husk. The kingdom could not be completely devoid of rulers; though what ruler would have allowed all this devastation to occur, he didn't know.

Quickening his pace, Arthur felt his heart thudding, anxiously, in his chest – it echoed noisily in his head, consuming all of his thoughts. Now, his mind was just a fraught haze of panic, worry and desperation. As he marched, he felt for his sword but all he found was an empty hip, he was still in his nightclothes. Why had he not thought to change at any point when he was returned back to his chambers? He cursed himself for it but there was not much he could do.

The figure had reached the castle gates. Arthur was relieved to see that although the castle was in ruins, the entrances were still guarded with hard-faced soldiers clad in full body armour. Broad swords glinted on their belts. As they were approached, the pair straightened up and found their hands moving unconsciously to their hips. In his own time, guests of the castle were not treated so hastily but he supposed considering the current climate it was not surprising for them to be hasty and suspicious; especially as there were very few people about.

"Halt," one man held up his gloved hand, "State your name and your purpose."

Something shifted beneath the stranger's cloak and the prince wondered whether he was going to bring out some form of identity but that was not the case and Arthur was astonished when the figure merely walked directly between the two of them without being stopped. He hadn't even declared himself and they let him through? That didn't make any sense. He glared, infuriated, at the useless men as he passed but they stared straight ahead, unseeing. Arthur was tempted to knock their heads together in order to make them see sense. He didn't. Besides, he wasn't even sure if he could.

As they couldn't actually see him, he hurried passed too and glanced over his shoulder to see that the Ghost of Winter Yet to Come was still following him quietly, like an obedient dog – perhaps, a slightly scary obedient dog.

Once within the castle walls, he felt like he was back on familiar turf, he didn't feel quite so alienated and out of place. Still, the place didn't feel anything like it usually did. It was cold and unwelcoming and empty. In his own time, he wouldn't be able to take four steps without bumping into some servant or guest or knight but after entering several corridors, he had found no one. Flickering torches, sitting in metal brackets, were the only indicators of anyone actually living here.

Cobwebs had formed in the shady corners and a layer of dust seemed to cover everything – that, and the grime. Occasionally, Arthur would see a splash of something dark on the floor, a stain, which he really hoped wasn't what he thought it was. He trod carefully after his first encounter.

The shape in front of him moved as if it had been in the castle all its life, it knew every passage and staircase and doorway without ever faltering in its step. Arthur realised, also, as he walked, that the figure was yet to make a single noise; he hadn't heard the swish or rustle of its cloak or the clump of its boots or even the sound of its breathing. For all he knew, it could be another damn ghost. Or, he supposed, just a very skilled hunter.

Suddenly, Arthur came to his senses and realised where they were in the castle. This stranger had come upon the Great Hall, where the King's throne was situated and all the events and meetings were held. It was obvious it had meant to end up here because it paused for just a second, bowed its head as if in preparation and then pushed the massive, oak doors open with confidence. Arthur glimpsed two slender, pale hands appear from beneath the dark cloak but that was all he saw of the person.

Taking a deep breath, Arthur followed the figure in.

Surprisingly, the hall remained much how it looked when he had been here before, in his own time, the ceiling high and vaulted, the large stone columns lining the edges of the room and the rich tapestries (although now fading and a bit more threadbare) hanging off the walls. The Pendragon crest hung above the throne at the far end of the room: a rearing, fire-breathing, golden dragon. Did that mean that they were still in power at this point?

There was a man in the room and, at first, Arthur didn't recognise him. However, after a moment's evaluation, his mind clicked. He was looking at himself!

That was very, very odd. Arthur's stomach roiled, uneasily, staring with a sort of morbid fascination at his future self. The man was tall and golden haired but he had grown a beard in the years in which he'd matured. In Arthur's opinion, it didn't look right, and he made a mental note never to grow facial hair. The future Arthur's face was more lined and he looked less well fed than the current one – his once muscular, broad frame thinner and leaner.

Was this what aging did to you? Arthur wondered. Or was this what the devastation of your kingdom did to you?

He reckoned that, at this point, he was only about five or six years older than he was now. And that was a terrifying thought.

The future Arthur was pacing, his brow furrowed in thought and his mouth set in a thin, tight line. His boots thudded rhythmically on the wooden floorboards, the only noise in the otherwise silent room. However, he seemed to stop abruptly as young Arthur and his guide entered. He looked round, quickly, his blue eyes narrowing with enmity when he spotted the cloaked figure; his hand was on his hilt like a bolt of lightning.

"Who are you?" he asked, commandingly. "Show your face."

There was a moment's pause; the tension building up.

"Show your face, I order you or I will do it for you myself." His gaze was fiery as he drew his blade, threateningly.

"You never were one to be patient, were you, Arthur?" A familiar voice stated with a hint of dark humour. "Always moving straight to the threats and intimidation; never a middle ground. Its do what I say or I'll break your arm. Do you remember that? The first time we met."

Both Arthurs' breath caught in their throat.

The stranger's arms reached out from beneath the material of their cloak and gently pulled down the hood to reveal a shock of raven black hair and a pale, thin face. Merlin's ocean blue eyes were colder than the prince was used to seeing, as if studded with ice crystals. They seemed to have aged, they had witnessed more, were less naïve and had more wisdom in them. There was something more _powerful_ about them.

Arthur was surprised when he saw a long thin scar which ran from the corner of Merlin's right eye down his cheek. He couldn't comprehend how the manservant would have sustained such a wound.

The man was as tall and slender as Arthur's Merlin but had none of the same way of carrying himself. This one, as the young man had seen before, had a more imposing, refined quality about him. He certainly wasn't the clumsy, always-half-bent-over-in-a-semi-contrite-bow, enthusiastic Merlin that the prince was familiar with. Future Merlin had the manner of a nobleman about him and Arthur had no idea why or where on earth such a disposition had come from.

Yet, he still seemed to have retained some of the humour which Arthur always associated with him. That was good.

It was also good to see that Merlin was still alive through all this destruction. He always seemed to have a knack for getting himself into trouble. The amount of tight spots he'd been in was ridiculous and yet he always walked out the other end a happy, effervescent person. Probably had a talent for surviving too, if previous experience was anything to go by.

However, the other Arthur didn't seem so pleased to see him. In fact, that was a colossal understatement. His face was now livid with hate and rage.

"How dare you return to my kingdom?!" he practically shouted, "After everything your people have done, surely, you do not think it _wise _to step back into my presence?"

Merlin winced at his words. "Arthur, I have come to make peace. I _always_ wanted to make peace."

"Your kind doesn't know the meaning of the word," future Arthur spat. He was advancing on his manservant; muscles in his jaw clenched in fury, eyes flashing like swords in sunlight.

"_Stop_ calling them _my kind_," Merlin replied, with a viciousness that Arthur hadn't believed him capable of. "We may have similar….skills….but it does not make us of the same _kin_."

"You're all the same!"

"We're not!" Merlin's voice had risen. He had not moved back despite the older Arthur's obvious hostility. Strangely, young Arthur was willing him back, urging him to move out of his future self's path; he could tell the manservant was in danger.

"You can't deny it; you're like _him _and all the rest - rotten to the core."

Current Arthur was absolutely befuddled; what on earth could he be talking about? He didn't understand how his and his servant's relationship had changed so drastically. Sometimes, he and Merlin didn't get along but deep down, he knew that they cared for another – sort of. This was beyond ridiculous though. There was actually murder in future Arthur's hard, sapphire eyes.

"Him? If you mean Gorglain then you are sorely mistaken, Arthur, and you can never have known me properly if you can so easily compare me to such evil."

"I _thought_ I knew you," Arthur said with venom, "I thought we were_ friends_." There was a pang of regret in his voice.

"I think our friendship ended when you tried to kill me," Merlin said sadly; there was visible grief in his eyes. He unconsciously reached up to trace the scar on his cheek.

Kill? Now Arthur was even further lost in the realm of misapprehension, he couldn't even think of a reason why he would ever want to seriously harm the young, raven haired man, let alone _kill _him. Merlin was one of the kindest, gentlest and perhaps clumsiest people he knew. What on earth could he do to make this Arthur think that he needed to murder him? Right now, young Arthur hated himself.

"No," King Arthur snapped, his face accusatory once more, "Our friendship ended when you turned out to be a _sorcerer_."

Arthur felt like he'd been punched in the gut. The whole world seemed to implode and he felt sick and dizzy and faint all at the same time. What he had heard could not be true. Merlin: a sorcerer? Impossible. The word reverberated round his skull over and over again as he stared, dumbstruck, at the tall, straight-backed, powerful looking young man in front of him. He had believed he had changed but not that much. No wonder his future self was acting badly towards Merlin.

But Merlin being a sorcerer would still not click in his brain. He didn't _want _it to click. For if the servant was a performer of magic now then did that mean he was one in his own time, in the present? Surely not? And yet, he recalled a time when the bumbling man had admitted his sorcerer in front of the whole court only to be pulled away by Arthur and called a love-struck fool. And another time when he had seen magic performed in Ealdor and he believed it to have been Will – had the dying man taken the rap?

Gwen and Morgana always said that Merlin was special but Arthur hadn't realised how 'special' until now.

Each of these realisations was like a physical blow and they bruised Arthur's very belief system; his trusting nature. He had thought Merlin a loyal and honest peasant boy all this time who, it seemed, would die for his prince at the drop of a hat. But how could that all be true if he were a sorcerer? Sorcerers were evil; spawn of the devil. Hadn't the prince always been taught that, ever since he was a boy?

Suddenly, other things fell into place: the fact that Merlin's father, Aurelius, had called him a freak and a death sentence and had left the family because of him. They had known, even at that early age, Merlin was different. He had looked so innocent though, a mere toddler. Surely a toddler was not capable of performing evil; a toddler didn't know what 'evil' was. But if he had magic then, did that mean he was evil? Even in Arthur's head, that didn't make sense. Recalling another of his trips, he remembered how he had been astonished when Merlin had vanished into the tree in seconds. That _must _have been magic. But that was just playground trickery, mischief, nothing to do with malicious intent. If anything, it was self-defence. So how did that fall into Uther's black and white; right and wrong ideals?

Arthur didn't know. And it scared him.

"Just because I'm a sorcerer, doesn't mean I can't be your friend!" Merlin stated with surprising calmness considering the situation. Then he added, quietly. "Friends are there for each other. They stick with one another through thick and thin."

"You were a servant," Arthur replied, as if that explained everything.

"So?" Merlin frowned.

The king opened and closed his mouth, floundering for a second before he found his voice. "So, you were a servant, not a true friend."

"_Not _a true _friend_?" the warlock's tone had reached a very high pitch – incredulous and indignant. "What more do you want of a friend, Arthur? I saved your life more times than I can count; I cared for you, looked out for you and was always there even when you were being a complete prat."

Arthur shuddered at the use of such a familiar word.

Merlin continued. "And you did the same for me; you _were _willing to die for a servant. So why did it all have to change....because I was a sorcerer? Fuck that, Arthur, you knew I would never harm you or anyone else. Yet, as soon as you found out you turned that damn sword of yours – the sword I _forged _for you out of a dragon's breath – on me without a moments thought. I never realised how little I _really _meant to you. I didn't realise it was all a big façade. If I hadn't used magic to escape, then I would be dead and I only just left in the nick of time, didn't I?"

He gestured, fiercely, to the blood red scar on his face. It was stark and ugly against his porcelain skin.

The future Arthur just stood, silent, his expression unmoved.

"Aren't you going to say _anything_?" Merlin asked, ferociously, all the good-natured, obedient servant having seemingly been drained from him. His eyes flashed with pure anger and very, very deep hurt.

"Why have you come here, Merlin?" he finally said, softly.

"To help. You know I can never resist the chance to save the lives of others, even if they don't appreciate it," the manservant replied, throwing his arms wide with a kind of ironic flamboyance. "Camelot is all but destroyed and you can do nothing about it."

"I am raising more troops."

"That is not enough and you know it, Arthur. You are dealing with sorcerers-"

"Your kind," Arthur interrupted, scathingly.

Merlin shot him a contemptuous look. "Sorcerers who have ripped the soul from the land with their evil enchantments and monstrous creatures. Your people are practically all gone."

"Some are in hiding."

"But most are dead or will be." There was an unfamiliar unfeeling, coldness to Merlin's tone. "You cannot fight sorcerers the likes of Gorglain with sword and sinew alone and expect to win."

"What do you propose then? If you are so full of wisdom," Arthur asked, derisively.

"I can bring my people together with yours and if we join forces then I am certain we can defeat this evil which rots the land."

There was a moment's pause. Then….

"_Never_."

"Never?" Merlin repeated his strong stance visibly weakened. His tone was disbelieving. Disappointment shone in his eyes.

"I will _never _join with a sorcerer."

"Even if it means the death of all your people?"

"They shall die knowing they have not consorted with evil," Arthur stated, grimly.

Silence. "You've changed, Arthur, and not for the better," Merlin eventually responded; his face blank with disenchantment.

The past Arthur suddenly felt a bony hand enclose around his arm and he jumped, his gaze spinning round to look at the spirit with which he had entered this awful place. Still, it said nothing but the prince understood that they were about the leave. He wasn't sure whether he was happy or not. His mind was awhirl with thoughts; like leaves in a storm, thrown around and damaged.

All he knew was that he needed to confront Merlin.

**Duh duh duuuuuuuuuh! Review! Please! I hope you liked the chapter and I hope I had the boys in character. **

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	5. In the End

**Author's Note - Thank you very much for all the positive feedback. I really hope you like the ending. It was very hard to write and may not be how some of you wanted it to end but...meh, I'm the author! :P**

**Oh, and I'm ill, so a lot of nice reviews for my last chapter would be nice. Thanks!**

**P.S. Just to let some of you know if you haven't read it already, I thought I'd pimp the most brilliant Merlin fic I have ever read which is called The Knights Have a Thousand Eyes by Stakeaclaim. It is a Merlin/Arthur fic but its honestly so damn good!**

Arthur was marching, he needed to find Merlin, it may be the middle of the night but he wasn't very well going to wait until morning to find out whether his manservant was a sorcerer was he? He was still, hopefully, entertaining the possibility that the future which he had been shown was….incorrect. He was pondering the idea that all these ghosts that he'd been visited by could be illusions or dreams or in fact nightmares which his sleep-deprived brain had conjured up. His kingdom ending would probably be among his most dreaded anxieties but finding out that Merlin was a sorcerer, was that one of his fears? Perhaps, an _actual _sorcerer had used magic to send these phantoms in order to turn him against his manservant. But what would be the point in that? What on earth would be the point of turning a Prince against his servant? There was nothing to be gained from that.

The Ghost of Winter Yet to come had gone already and Arthur was alone with his thoughts and unanswered questions. Even if the spirit had hung around then he doubted whether he would have got a word out of it. This was for him to figure out. Hadn't the first spectre stated something about him learning about himself and then acting on those lessons to become a great ruler? That must mean that he needed to discover things for himself now the clues had been given to him.

He _needed _to know whether what he had been shown about Merlin was the truth. Then he would decide how to act upon it.

Finally, after what seemed like a rather peculiarly long walk from his room to the physician's chambers, Arthur arrived at his destination.

Swinging the door open, the prince stepped into the poky little room which belonged to his servant and almost tripped over several books and a shirt which had been thrown haphazardly on the floor. With the reactions and balance of a knight, he righted himself and cursed Merlin for being such a lazy buffoon. No wonder his own chambers were so messy if these were the boy's own standards.

He had been hoping to make an entrance, for what reason was unknown even to him other than he was accustomed to it – he was royalty entering a servant's quarters after all. However, after the mishap at the door and the realisation that Merlin was sound asleep (it was only two in the morning) his plan fell flat on its face. The young man was sprawled peacefully on his too small bed, legs falling off the end and arms hanging over the sides. His face was buried in the middle of his straw-stuffed pillow, which was probably fortunate otherwise Arthur would have been subject to his terrible snoring. For such a slight man, the manservant made an awful lot of noise in his slumber; Arthur had experienced that on the overnight hunting trips they took reasonably often.

Staring for longer than was necessary at the sleeping boy, Arthur had to remind himself that he was gazing at a sorcerer. No matter how much Merlin resembled an exhausted, vulnerable peasant boy who had just spent the entire day serving his grumpy master, he was still capable of performing magic.

Taking a deep breath and trying to think of what he was actually about to say to his puzzling servant, Arthur finally plucked up the courage to wake Merlin. He did so in the usual, rough manner that he used when the boy had failed to turn up for service completely because he had overslept. This was by shaking him.

When Merlin let out a moan of confusion, Arthur stepped back and waited, an ominous figure waiting in the gloom – like an executer waiting with an axe.

The boy's eyes opened and he blinked blearily, still unsure as to what was going on, everything still seemed to be dark; there was no sunshine streaming in through the window and therefore it could not be morning. Shaking his head, sleepily, the manservant settled back down beneath his blankets, hoping to catch another few winks. However, a sudden deliberate cough, startled him and he sat bolt upright in bed.

Black hair rumpled, covers falling down to reveal a pale naked chest and jaw shadowed with overnight stubble, Merlin looked completely unprepared and helpless. He caught sight of Arthur and his eyes narrowed with confusion and annoyance. Hadn't the prince already asked enough of him? Couldn't he get a moment's peace?

"What are you..." he yawned, "Doing here? S'not even morning." The young man had to glance at the window once more to see if he was mistaken but he saw the moon blinking at him from its velvet backdrop and knew he was correct. An unhappy thought entered his head. "We're not going for an early hunt are we?" he asked with trepidation. "If we are then you really are a bloody, annoying prat."

Arthur was honestly thrown by his servant's normality: his unending rudeness and disregard for etiquette or status. Merlin was never afraid to insult his master. However, the prince was in such a mess right now, his whole world having been turned upside-down that he hadn't realised that Merlin would be none the wiser. That made what he was about to do even more difficult….but it _had _to be done.

He stared at the raven haired oddity for a moment.

"I need to talk to you, Merlin," he finally stated. His arms were crossed over his chest.

"Technically," the boy grumbled, "You _are _talking to me. And, may I add, in the middle of the night?" Perhaps, if he made a big enough fuss over it then Arthur would push off and he would get some much needed sleep. Unfortunately, that didn't seem the case.

"It's important."

"Oh, well, all right then," Merlin said with somewhat fake enthusiasm, "Go right ahead if it's _important_."

Merlin was feeling rather strange, sitting here in his own bed, barely dressed with the Prince of Camelot standing above him, staring at him as if he were something alien. It was only now that he noticed that Arthur too was clothed in night garments: a thin linen shirt and a pair of baggy trousers. What on earth had possessed him to pop in for a chat at this time of night? Something had to be up, Merlin realised now.

He braced himself.

Looking terribly unsure of himself, an unfamiliar word associated with the usually arrogant and vainglorious prince, Arthur pursed his pink lips and rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

Merlin scratched the back of his head awkwardly. Waiting.

"I want you to understand," Arthur finally said, picking his words carefully, "That I will view your words with the utmost sincerity and deference. There will be no prejudgement. But you must tell me the truth." He looked meaningfully at the young man.

Merlin frowned. "What on earth are you talking about?"

Arthur groaned, perhaps, he was being too subtle in his wording. Merlin did only tend to get things once they were spelled out, letter by letter, to him. Still, it was such a difficult question to ask and really, one that he didn't want to hear the answer to.

"Arthur? You know I'm not used to the gobbledegook you and your father speak in when you are talking seriously. It goes way over my head."

"Most things go way over your head." Arthur found himself saying without even thinking. He kicked himself internally.

Merlin smiled, wryly, "That may be the case but can you _please _elaborate? I'm only a simpleton, as you so like to call me."

"_Fine_," Arthur decided, nodding more to himself than to Merlin. He shouldn't be skirting round the issue like this; he was the Crown Prince, not some dithering idiot. He should be facing the problem face on; if he wanted the truth then he must ask for it outright and damn the consequences. "Merlin….are you a sorcerer?"

The effect of the words was palpable. The boy in the bed recoiled, looking for the world like the toddler which Arthur had seen in his visions: his cerulean blue eyes wide with astonishment and his mouth slack with fear. He could have competed easily with Gaius considering how high his eyebrows vanished into his untidy hairline.

Merlin knew that he should be making a better job of concealing his identity; he should have been denying the accusation and lying until his nose had grown a foot in length. But it was too late to do any of those things now; the shock of Arthur's abrupt and out of the blue question had knocked the truth out of him, so it was plain to see, even to the often painfully oblivious prince. He was sure he hadn't even _done _anything to found Arthur's probing – he'd been ever so careful these past few weeks because Uther had been on a sorcerer killing warpath.

So where on earth could the foundations of Arthur's blunt question have sprouted from?

Floundering, the warlock tried to come up with an answer.

"I'll take that reaction as a yes then, shall I?" Arthur said, softly, his eyes shining with disbelief and something else. Defeat?

"I….I…." The usually talkative manservant was still struggling for words.

It was bizarre seeing his own Merlin again, not the one from the future, they were so different and yet the same. The future Merlin had seemed so confident in himself, free of constraints and talking to Arthur as if he was an equal. This one still had a long way to go.

Except, Arthur didn't want Merlin to end up like the one he'd witnessed, not completely. Perhaps, the backbone and the fluent, mature use of words but not much else. He particularly didn't want to see the scar marring his cheek or the shabbiness of his travelling cloak. He didn't want him be outcast and he certainly, didn't want to kill him. That was a revelation in itself, but having seen what would undoubtedly befall his kingdom if Merlin was banished, Arthur had to rethink things. Maybe at one point – recently even – he would have reacted like the other Arthur had and lashed out but his views had shifted considerably after what he had witnessed.

Having seen things from a different, less heated angle, Arthur was learning a lot of home truths. Unquestionably, what the Ghosts of Winter had foreseen.

"Arthur, sire, I…..can explain…." Merlin managed a few more syllables.

"Can you?" Arthur asked, expectantly, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Er…..not really," the boy tailed off lamely.

"I didn't think so."

"Are you going to execute me?" Merlin queried with a resigned look in his eyes. Frankly, he was surprised Arthur hadn't done so already.

Unexpectedly, Arthur actually felt a pang of pain and guilt at the idea that Merlin believed he could so easily go through with his murder. It didn't really say a lot for their friendship and the prince was irked by that. Surely, the warlock realised that Arthur had saved his life so many times for a reason and that he just insulted him and made him work hard because…well, that was just how Arthur was. The knights of Camelot could tell him that. Then again, Arthur had consistently referred to him as 'just a servant' and never once as a friend. Although now the prince realised that was what their relationship had developed to.

"No," he stated.

Merlin performed a rather amusing double take in which he almost keeled off the bed.

"Sorry?" he exclaimed.

"I said, no, Merlin," Arthur smiled, dryly; "I'm not going to execute you."

"But the King would kill me if he knew," Merlin answered, worriedly.

The prince nodded. "That's why he won't find out."

The poor young man looked bewildered.

"You would keep this from the King? You'd keep this from _your _father?" Merlin asked, incredulously, his eyes incredibly huge.

"If you keep going like that, Merlin, I might change my mind."

"But…I didn't even have to defend myself or explain to you why I'm not a threat to the kingdom."

"It may come as a surprise to you, Merlin, but I'm not a completely unfeeling person and I do have a brain of my own which can come to perfectly good conclusions on its own."

"What conclusions?"

"They are none of your business."

"So, you're really not going to tell Uther?"

"Really."

Arthur smirked at the grin that spread across the boy's expressive face, his expression was positively glowing, as if all his wishes had come true in one fell swoop. Suddenly, he jumped out of bed and pointed a finger at Arthur.

"How did you find out?"

"Let's just say it took a few old ghosts to make me realise."

"That doesn't even make sense." Merlin made a face.

"Yes, well, I'm not cut out for meaningful statements," Arthur retorted, haughtily, "I prefer killing things."

"I thought I was so careful…" Merlin murmured, pensively.

"Not careful enough. However, you must be even more vigilant now Merlin, just because I know doesn't mean it's a chance for you to send my dirty socks dancing across the bedroom or set fire to things just because you can."

"I already do that."

"Fire?" Arthur said, alarmed.

"No, the socks," Merlin laughed.

"Right, but the King doesn't know and it _must _stay that way. Do you understand? I'm not sure if I could protect you should it come to the crunch."

"But you'd try?" Merlin ventured.

"Yes," Arthur sighed, he was never going to hear the end of this. "I'd try."

* * *

The Winter Festival was in full swing and Uther was astounded at the transformation his son seemed to have undergone over night. Yesterday, he had been stomping round the castle like a petulant five year old and today…today he was exuberant, throwing himself into the festivities in a way the king had never witnessed before. It was like he was a different man.

He hadn't complained about the frivolity of the servants or the noisiness of the peasants or the irritating nature of the many guests which Uther had invited into the castle. That was a first. Usually, the prince sidled up to him and informed him that Lord Byzan was a lying cad and that he shouldn't be expected to believe the prone -exaggerator could kill a bear with his naked hands or that the Duchess of Knor was being her usual lecherous self and trying to seduce him at every given moment – even with her husband standing right there! The King had grown used to such complaints and deafened himself to them.

However, this time, he hadn't said anything.

Right now, Uther watched as Arthur laughed heartily with a young man who sat at his table (the son of Hubert, he believed) and clapped him in a friendly way on the back before tucking into his goose. The nobleman's son looked positively ecstatic at such an amiable gesture and his cheeks wouldn't stop glowing for the rest of the day.

Although Arthur hadn't talked to him personally, several of the gentry had come up to him and informed him of what a distinguished and charismatic son he had. Lady Atlanta had told him that 'he was a charming young man with impeccable manners and a good heart.' When Uther had questioned the last part, she had told him that the prince had told one of the serving girls who was heavy with babe to sit down and rest her feet. 'He even gave her some of the food off his own plate!" she exclaimed with delight.

At first, the King hadn't been sure how to view this development in his son but then decided that although it wouldn't do for his son to constantly be consorting with those of lower status and _dining _with them, he would allow it just the once as it was a celebration and a time to be giving and caring. If Arthur's actions pleased the visitors then all the better.

* * *

Arthur was honestly enjoying himself. He hadn't had this much fun in ages. Well, not since the time he booby trapped the hallway and managed to capture Merlin in a net. The sound the manservant had made as he was swept off his feet was unforgettable: a cross between a rabbit being strangled and a toad's croak – perhaps, there was a little girl's scream in there too. In fact, the prince had been laughing so much that he'd collapsed on the floor and not been able to get up for at least another five minutes, whilst Merlin just sat in his rope prison in a huff.

The morning had been spent enjoying the wintery weather outside, walking in the snow and entertaining some of the village children who had come up to play. He and Merlin had been attacked with piles of snow and then a war had been waged. Although, the prince had never even dreamed of consorting with peasant children as a child, let alone now, his new outlook on life caused him to partake. And he was glad he did.

He had even witnessed a very surreptitious bit of Merlin's magic, a childish trick that reminded him of the younger Merlin stuck in a tree, when the warlock redirected the flight of one of the snowballs so it exploded down the neck of one of the youngsters. He'd had his comeuppance though, when he'd been mobbed and thrown to the ground by the children. Arthur had just stood on the sidelines, laughing.

As the peasant children had left, he knew, with certainty, that he had made _their _day, much like the sweetmeat shopkeeper he had witnessed on his trip. They would be boasting about their frolicking with the infamous Prince of Camelot for weeks to come.

They had come inside to dancing and entertainment in the form of a court jester and a travelling band of flutists. The atmosphere was warm and euphoric, with people enjoying the food that was spread out for them and the light conversation. Arthur even braced himself to dance with Morgana who would only go on about how he had two left feet.

Surprisingly, however, she complimented his skill and then said, "I just wanted to thank you, Arthur, for the gift." Her green-grey eyes were alight with gratitude and pleasure. "It was so thoughtful of you." She had smiled and left him feeling quite chuffed.

He'd thought long and hard about what to gift his adopted sister and eventually decided upon what she would actually appreciate: a brand new sword. This he had acquired from Gwen who he had given a simple silver necklace in return for her favour (and the money, of course!). She had been so taken by it that he made a note to always give her a present every Winter Festival if that was the wonderful reaction he would get. He never knew it could be so much fun to give rather than receive.

His father had been gifted a brooch which he'd acquired with great haste from a travelling salesman who was a staying at the castle.

There was one last person who he had yet to give a gift to and he was saving that for later when there would be no one around.

Sipping at his goblet, Arthur surveyed the happiness in the room he was sat, his father was right, it was good to keep the spirits of the people up with this annual celebration, it gave them something to look forward to and enjoy. After the feast, he had decided to personally go to the kitchens and thank all who had worked there and then ask them if they would be so kind as to take the leftovers and give them to the citizens of Camelot. That way, everyone would get to enjoy the delicious food and not be hungry.

Behind him stood Merlin, tall and lanky in his royal serving attire; Arthur had allowed him to forgo the feathered hat but the rich blue and red garments were essential. However, somehow, the manservant always managed to make them look ridiculous on him – perhaps, it was because they were so big and baggy. Arthur hadn't forgotten the promise he'd made to keep his servant well fed and was secretly passing food from his plate to the skinny young man. Merlin had initially been surprised but then pleased.

* * *

As the evening drew to a close, Arthur decided to retire to his bedroom. He bid goodnight to his father and the other guests and beckoned Merlin to come with him. Once they were inside his bedroom, he turned to his servant with a smile on his face. Through his recent visits from the Ghosts he had learnt a lot of things but the most important thing he had discovered was just how much he cared for his blasted manservant. He didn't know what he would do with out him. There was no way that he would ever let anything happen to his friend whilst he was still alive; as much as he skirted round the issue with Merlin.

"I've got a present for you," he declared.

Merlin looked, strangely, worried. "You have?"

"Yep."

"I haven't got one for you," the manservant suddenly said, his face guilty.

"I didn't expect you to," Arthur replied, "But, having said that, how about, as a present to me, could you please try and tidy my bedroom better in future?" He gestured at the mess his room had become.

"I can do that," Merlin nodded, uncertainly. He wasn't really known for his tidy nature.

"Right, here we go. Now, you have to understand this has been _ludicrously_ difficult to get hold of, for several reasons so I'm expecting a lot of gratitude."

"Uh-huh," Merlin replied, still inexplicably nervous.

"Ta da!"

Arthur brought something out from beneath the covers of his and brandished it at Merlin.

"A book?" Merlin frowned. It was a bit of an anticlimax.

"Not just any book, _Mer_lin, it's a spell book."

"You're kidding?!"

"Nope, Father has this hidden library of books. He…well….he keeps them just in case they are needed in the future to combat sorcerers. He doesn't like to be completely illiterate on mythical beasts and enchantments and stuff."

"Won't he notice you've taken it? Isn't it a bit dangerous?" Merlin asked, the questions flooding forth. He flicked through the pages, his eyes greedily sucking up the new information.

Arthur grinned, "Can't you just be happy, Merlin? Stop asking so many damned questions."

"Sorry," the boy looked sheepish. "And thank you."

"Just make sure you keep it well hidden."

"I already have one. I'll put it with that one."

Arthur looked stunned. "Really?" He hadn't even considered the fact that Merlin could already have a spell book concealed.

"As much as you might think it, Arthur, I'm not completely incapable of hiding things."

"Is it under the floorboards?"

"How did you know?!"

"Gods, Merlin, you are so obvious."

**A happy note to end on. Please, please review!**


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